“Miss Withakay, how exactly did you acquire that dress?” Lord Marcus Aurulius Sters spoke with that tone of almost skepticism of any story she might come up with. It was a lot of dyed lace, and bead work.

“I made it!” She beams with pride, “and maybe traded a map to a super secret treasure that may not exist for the materials…”

He sighs heavily, his left hand unconsciously rubs that spot between his heavy set brow, “Miss Withakay, did you sully the Cartographers good name by trading a false map?”

“No sir, I am no good at deception. The map I traded was of top quality, marking the way to a lovely cathedral in Paris, with annotations of there having been temples to some old god, Ju-peter, Ju-pie-tar, or something like that. Not my fault he took it to mean there was some sort of treasure there.” She smiles as she shrugs with that last comment, “I tried to convince him otherwise, but it just made him desire it more.”

Probably not Notre Dame then, The major damage was in the 13th and 14th arrondissements, although the islands in the Seine were affected. I really do need to get to the Paris book, so I can quit hinting around this and just get the story told.

Nice writeup on the Ordo Arnoldus. This should probably be polished a little and put up on a website or something.

“This is so boring, why do we have to map the Queens Forest yet again? Do they think we missed something?” Erica whines, as she marks down the plants she sees in an empty atlas.

“It is not a matter of us missing things, but to track invasive species, growth, and possible disease spread through the area. We catch blights before they happen,” Lord Bartholomew growls, “if you had listened you would know this.”

“I listened, it does not change that this is so boring. I want to be out, exploring new places! To be the first to see and map places. It is so stale here. You know I am more capable than this.” She spins around a tree to see the growly old cartographer crouched down his hand extended to a badger. Just as he was about to actually pet the feral ball of fury, it decided it did not want that and lashed out. Erica quickly subdues the creature, but the damage was done to her mentor.

“Good sir, you always admonish me for my recklessness, did you expect anything else from a badger?” As she bundles his hand up in his shirt, “Novices, learn well from this. Gather the books and tools, and please bring them straight back to the lodge. Do not dally. Hopefully I can get Lord Bartholomew back in time to save his hand.”

“Messer Mathew Penbroke, could you show me more of how to open locks? It may be quite useful when I finally get to do some real exploration. And you are by far the finest brassman in the country, a real Guppy I hear.” Erica smiles as she slides up close to the dwarf.

The dwarf just guffaws, “Aye lass, ya always speak such honey when ya be wantin’ a thing. I kin show ya ‘ow to go about pickin’ locks, but ya gots ta be promisin’ me that ya will no be usin’ this fo’ nefarious purposes. The guild’s got a reputation ta keep.”

“Aye Messer Penbroke, I solemnly promise that I will not use this knowledge for nefarious deeds. Just a bit of tomb raiding, and maybe a bit at the French.” Her smile glinted with mischief, but Matthew wrote it off for her natural look as he took out the dummy locks.

“Well lass, here we go!” As he broke down the actions as she performed them singing a little ditty about it. After about the 20th configuration the picks moved seemingly on their own and Matthew exclaimed, “By Gods childe, ye have it! Ye got the spell down pat.”

Madam Connor, could you tutor myself in the language in this document?” Erica asked sweetly.

Madam Connor, a snark that before the Looking Glass Fever had taught Lords and Ladies their letters, glanced over the document Erica showed her. Her glower caused Erica to shrink back as she growled out, “No civilized tounge should sully itself with that shite. Why have so many letters if half of them are not pronounced right, and the other half are just skipped altogether. But if you must know, it details how the uncultured swine raised a temple to God on top the ruins of some ancient temple to Jupiter. They probably did not even think to catalogue any relics that may have been there, bloody fools they are.” She huffed, “If that is all, best be on your way.”